Written in the Stars
by preciouslittleingenue
Summary: Erik was old. Exactly how old, no one, including himself, had bothered to keep track; his time on Earth was up. He knew very well that he could just stop fighting, and the illness would carry his black soul away and he would become no longer a living corpse, but simply a corpse. But he would not. He would not stop fighting. Not until he saw her one last time.


_This is mostly musical-based, being that in the Leroux novel Erik dies almost immediately after Christine leaves, but I threw in the Persian because he's great. Here is my second Phantom one-shot. Please leave reviews and tell me what you think! Thank you!_

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Erik lay in bed, his body aching with sickness. It would all be over soon. Those years, and years of mindless suffering would all disappear with him. He knew very well that he could just stop fighting, and the illness would carry his black soul away and he would become no longer a living corpse, but simply a corpse. But he would not. He would not stop fighting. Not until he saw her one more time.

Nadir had watched over him since the very day he took ill. He'd tried to feed him and to give him herbs to heal him, but he would not take them. He was old. Exactly how old, he hadn't cared to remember, but his time was up. All living things must die, and now it was his turn. He would not fight his impending doom any longer. He was unworthy of even being born into the world. Why should he stay there longer than he was supposed to?

There were times when he questioned why he was even still living, why he hadn't let himself waste away all those years ago. Why did he continue to put up a fight for his life, when the thing sustaining his left had left him?

It was the mere thought of her. The mere image of her laughing, smiling, singing. The idea of her happiness. Whenever the world seemed bleak, he reminded himself that somewhere in this world, Christine was happy. Somewhere, she was being held and loved by someone who deserved her. Somewhere, she was caressing a growing stomach, or an infant, or perhaps even a child. Sometimes, he'd stolen away to the roof of the opera house and stood there for hours, staring at the stars and at the moon. Somewhere in this world, Christine was looking at the very same stars and the very same moon. Perhaps she was lying in the grass with her lover, gazing at them with wonder. Perhaps her beautiful blue eyes lit up at the sight of the twinkling lights in the black sky. Oh, those beautiful eyes…the stars themselves could never shine the way her eyes did. Maybe she was pressed against a window in the dim candle light with a little girl who'd just asked: "Maman, how many stars are there?"

It was enough to keep him going. But now, it was the end of his days. His original plan was to just let himself slip away peacefully. He'd even thought to drink one of his own poisons to just end it right away. His time was up anyway. But then his thoughts drifted to her again. What if she wasn't happy? What if he'd wasted his entire life painting the picture of Christine's perfect life, only to realize that behind the picture was a nightmare?

He had to know. He would not die wondering if she'd ever found her peace.

And that is why Erik now lie alone on his deathbed (that was hardly _his_ bed, the Daroga had insisted he rest in a real bed instead of his coffin, and he'd been too weak to protest) while Nadir roamed the world above him to find the very girl who tormented his thoughts every second of the day. What if she protested? What if she refused to go with him? What if he was to die, never knowing the truth about the girl's life?

The girl…she was hardly a girl now. So very many years had passed…he'd lost count ages ago. She was indeed significantly younger than he was, so she could not have aged much. Was he prepared to see the tiny, pure little angel he'd met so long ago all grown up?

It seemed there wouldn't be much time to think on it. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and to his utter joy and shock, there were two sets of footprints. One of them heavy and purposeful, and the other light and hesitant. He wanted with every fibre of his being to leap up and retrieve his mask, to greet her properly. But the sickness weighed him down, pressing on every inch of his wretched body.

The Daroga poked his head in the doorway. "She's…she's here, Erik."

Erik slowly nodded his head once, which had taken much more effort than he'd imagined it would.

Nadir turned around to speak to the woman on the other side of the door. "Now, I must warn you, he…is not in good condition," he said sadly. "It is rather frightening to see him like this, and I don't want you to be too shocked."

Erik rolled his eyes. He found it entirely inconceivable that anything could make him appear any more frightening than he always did.

"Are you ready?" Nadir said.

"Yes."

Her voice…oh, she was here…she was truly here…

Nadir pushed the door all the way open and stood to the side, and Erik watched as a woman hesitantly stepped into the room. Her hand flew to her mouth with a stifled gasp. She paused in the doorway, and although the darkness in the room prevented him from seeing her features clearly, he could distinctly hear a shaky exhale of breath. She slowly removed her hand from her face and took another step into the room. Nadir closed the door behind her.

"Christine…" Erik's voice came as a hiss of air, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She could not wrap her mind around the thought that this man, this crumpled, dying man was once the infamous Phantom of the Opera, her immortal Angel of Music.

She silently continued her slow walk to his bedside, until she was standing right beside where he lay.

"Oh, Christine…" She watched as tears rolled down his yellow cheeks. His hand left his side and it rose to the air, trembling like a leaf. He reached up to her, and she immediately seized his rough, leather hand between both of her smooth, delicate ones. She carefully sat on the bed beside him, a single tear slipping out of her eye and rolling down her cheek.

He looked her up and down, surprised. She was no longer the tiny, scrawny child he'd met. He'd always marveled at how very tiny she was. But her waist was not slender anymore, and her breasts were no longer lost in her garments. Oh, but she was beautiful. She had matured, grown up. He then studied her face carefully. It was no longer the smooth porcelain he remembered it to be. There were those familiar lines around her mouth that showed her age. There were tiny streaks of gray in her dark hair. His gaze wandered up to her eyes. He sighed with relief. They still shone just as beautifully as they used to…although at the moment they were clouded with tears. At the corners of her eyes were several wrinkles. He thought it not possible, but his heart soared. He had seen plenty of women her age without such wrinkles; they never smiled. But Christine…she smiled. The proof was written on her face.

"Do not cry for me, Christine…" he mumbled. "Do not soil your beautiful face with tears for someone so unworthy…" Christine wiped away the tears lingering on her face and then returned her hand to his. "Won't you…smile for me…?"

At first, Christine's eyebrows furrowed together with confusion. After a moment, she blinked away her tears, looked him in the eye, and smiled warmly. He closed his eyes with bliss.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she squeezed desperately on his hand. "Erik?" she cried fearfully, her tears resurfacing.

Erik slowly opened his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Do not worry…I am not finished with you yet…"

Christine sighed with relief. Erik suddenly broke into a fit of coughing, and Christine gripped his hand tightly, her chest tightening anxiously. Erik finally ceased his coughing, and looked up to see tears lingering in her eyes. His heart felt heavy. He was frightening the poor child. He stared at her for a moment and took and enormous breath.

"Tell me," he croaked, his voice hoarse from coughing. Christine shivered again. His voice was once so smooth, so beautiful… "How old are you now?"

Christine cleared her throat. "I…I have forty-one years now."

"Forty-one…" he murmured. Erik tried to lift his hand that was constricted between Christine's. She noticed the effort and gently lifted his hand. He reached for her face, and she carefully guided it there. He rested his hand, cold as ice, on her warm skin. She held his hand there on her cheek. He slowly moved one finger in a tiny circle on her cheek.

"You're married?"

"Yes…" she said uneasily. "To…to Raoul."

He nodded. "Children?"

"Oh, yes," she said, a genuine smile appearing on her face. "I have four."

"Four?" he said weakly in disbelief.

"Yes," she said. "My…my eldest is getting married next month."

"Married?" he said. Lord, was she herself not married only yesterday…?

"Yes…" she sighed. "The man she loves is a wonderful man. It's not that I don't want her to marry him…it's just that…"

"You don't want to let her go," Erik said with understanding.

Christine looked at him, her heart stinging with guilt. "…Yes. You're right."

There was a considerable period of silence, and Erik let his hand drop from Christine's face, but she gently took it back into her hands.

"What is her name?" Erik finally said after that endless silence.

"Lotte," Christine said. "Her name is Lotte."

"She looks like you?"

"Oh, yes," she chuckled. "The spitting image…all but her eyes. She has her father's eyes."

Erik nodded. It brought him much joy to imagine another little Christine wandering about.

"I…I have picture of her here…" Christine took her hand away from Erik's and pulled on a golden chain that was around her neck, freeing the end of a necklace that had been tucked inside her dress. She removed the chain from her neck and opened what appeared to be a locket. She brought the jewelry close to his eyes.

"That's her, on the right," Christine explained. The photograph was taken when she was only a child.

"She's…she's beautiful…" Erik mumbled, and Christine watched as more tears rolled down his face. "Is…is that your son?"

"Oh, yes," Christine said. "That is Gustave, my next eldest." Erik simply continued to weep. "I…I have another one with the other two," Christine continued uneasily. "But it's at home."

"The others…what are their names?"

"I have another boy named Timothèe," Christine went on. "He's nearly ten years old. And a girl, six years old, Stèphanie."

Christine watched as Erik's tears stopped flowing. She shut the locket and replaced it around her neck, tucking it back into her dress.

"You love them?" he said.

"Yes…with all my heart," she said. "They are each the most beautiful blessing I could ever ask for."

"And your husband…?" Christine looked at him uncomfortably. "Do not spare my feelings, Christine. Tell me."

"I…Oh, Erik…I love him so much," she breathed. "He has made me so blissfully happy, he is all that I could ever want, he…" She stopped herself. She looked guiltily into his eyes.

"So you have been happy?"

"Yes…" she said. "Yes, Erik, I have been so happy."

His eyes closed again, and he exhaled deeply. She panicked again, desperately squeezing his hand. "Erik?"

"Christine…" he hissed, his eyes remaining closed. He took a deep breath. "You will never know how blissfully happy you have just made me…"

"Erik…" she whimpered.

"Do not cry," he said harshly. He opened his eyes again and looked at her. "The last thing I see _will not_ be you in tears."

Christine nodded, biting her lip and forcing back her tears.

"Tell me," he said thoughtfully. "Do you ever…gaze at the stars, the moon?"

"I…I suppose," she said.

A tiny smile played at his lips. "Can you promise me something?"

"Of course, anything," she said.

"When I am gone, will you look at the stars, and…and think of me?"

Christine forced back more tears, furiously biting down on her lip. "Yes…yes, Erik. I promise.

"Good," he sighed contentedly. "You are a good girl…"

"You know…my father used to tell me that the stars are angels watching over us," Christine said. "I'd…I'd forgotten about that until just now."

"I am no angel…" he said bitterly.

"But you could be."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Erik was seized by more coughing. Christine waited patiently for him to stop. He breathed heavily, painfully. Christine could see the pain written on his face with each intake of air. He would be gone soon. She tentatively reached out with a trembling hand and stroked his contorted face. Erik closed his eyes and savored the bliss of her gentle touch. How had he survived over twenty years without that incredible sensation…?

"Christine…?" His voice suddenly became light and airy. She had never heard such a voice come from him.

"Yes?"

"Won't you…sing for me…?" he looked up at her pleadingly, and she was reminded of how her children would delay their falling asleep by requesting a song from their mother.

"Yes…of course…" she said. "What…what do you want to hear?"

"What do you sing to your children?"

"Well…anything really," she said. She then chuckled to herself. "But…there is one that never fails to calm every single one of them…well, at least when they were little."

"Sing it for me," he begged.

Christine looked into his pleading eyes and nodded.

"And Christine?"

"Yes?"

"Imagine you are singing to your children," he said. "I want you to smile while you sing to me…"

"A-alright…" She took a deep breath and began to sing a familiar Swedish folk song she'd learned as a child. "När som jag var på mitt adertonde år, det var en vacker gosse som föll uti min håg. Den tänkte jag förevigt att få äga." He stared up at her with wonder as she sang, and she forced a smile to her lips.

"Men denna min tanke rätt snarelig försvann, det var en annan flicka som lades i hans famn." The pain on his face melted away, even though his chest continued to heave with painstaking breath.

"Den liknar han vid rosende blomma. Nog än jag hållit fader och moder så kär,

samt syskon och vänner, som älskat mig här," He smiled up at her, a tiny smile. She was once again reminded of a child. "Så går dock denna kärlek över alla." His eyes closed slowly.

"Tack för att du varit min endaste tröst och tack för alla stunder jag vilat vid ditt bröst.

I himmlen skall vi åter bli förenta." His chest stopped moving, and her eyes widened with terror, her chest heaving with panicked breaths.

"Erik?" She removed her hand from his face and seized him by the shoulders. "Erik!" She shook him desperately. A sob escaped her lips, and she stopped shaking him. He was gone. There was so much she didn't say, so much he needed to hear…

 _No…_

She was wrong. He had heard all that he needed to. He saw that she had lived a happy life, and that was enough for him. She'd granted him the peace he needed by simply being there.

She lowered her face close to his and kissed his forehead tenderly. "Goodbye, Angel."

Christine had gone home and continued to live her life with her loving husband and children. Lotte got married, the rest soon grew up and got married as well. But she never forgot her promise. No matter how many years flew by, she never forgot to look at the stars and remember the angel that watched her from above. She always pictured him up there among the stars, as her father had told her that the stars were all angels.

"Maman?" Stèphanie had said one day, creeping to her bedroom window instead of getting into bed.

"Yes, love?"

"How many stars are there?"

"Oh, more than anyone could ever count," Christine said, joining her daughter on the window seat. "But do you want to know something?"

"Yes!" she said excitedly.

"The stars are truly God's angels," Christine said.

"Really?"

"Yes, it's true," Christine stroked the girl's hair. "I want you to always remember that. Can you promise?"

"Yes, Maman, I promise."

"Good," Christine said. "Now when you look at the stars, you shall always think of all the beautiful angels."

"Is that why you always look at the stars, Maman?" Stèphanie asked. "Do you have an Angel?"

Christine sighed. "Yes, love. I have my mother, and my father watching me from heaven, twinkling their beautiful lights so I know they're watching over me. And I have a…a special friend watching me, too. My Guardian Angel."

"Who is my Angel?" Stèphanie asked.

"They're watching you, too," Christine said. "Whenever the stars are out, all of God's angels are watching you always."

"How lovely," Stèphanie clasped her hands together.

"Yes, it is." Christine kissed the child's forehead. "Now, I do think it is time for bed."

"Maman, won't you sing for me?"

Christine picked up her daughter off the window seat and carried her to bed. "Yes, love. Of course."


End file.
